Project MKUltra was the code name of a U.S. government human research operation experimenting in the behavioral engineering of humans through the CIA’s Scientific Intelligence Division. The program began in the early 1950s and officially halted in 1973. MKUltra used numerous methodologies to manipulate people’s mental states and alter brain functions, including the surreptitious administration of drugs (especially LSD) and other chemicals, hypnosis, sensory deprivation, isolation, verbal and sexual abuse, as well as various forms of torture.
Chanya and I stared at her with wrinkled brows.
“Ultra was a huge scandal in the seventies, but it went with all the other huge scandals,” Krom explained. “The world assumed it was a purely American story all about the toxic mix of ruthless spies and worse scientists. There was a movie: The Manchurian Candidate. Naturally, in the film the bad guys manipulating poor innocent Americans are driven by wicked Orientals desperate to take over the world using mind control.” Krom looked me in the eye. “I think you know Goldman ran the project in Vietnam as a young-very young-CIA agent. Of course, in Vietnam everyone who was put in harm’s way was young, most of the soldiers were under twenty-two. Goldman was twenty-six when he first went out. I guess the CIA also had its Rear Echelon Motherfuckers who didn’t want to risk their careers and left the wet stuff to ambitious young men like Joseph Goldman.”
I was in shock and had to reread the printout a couple more times. That’s the power of print for you. I know the lawyer Sakagorn had hinted at something like this, but to see it referred to in the public space, to be told it had a notorious history that included congressional hearings-that was different. Krom seemed to understand that she had initiated me into a higher level of knowledge-and that was the purpose of the meeting.
When I looked up, the dynamics had changed. I took a clue from the strange look on Chanya’s face and switched to Krom, who was staring at her. I had to blink. So far I had seen two sides of the Inspector: the consummate professional cop and the wild humping dyke with full-body tattoo. Now I had to add: seasoned connoisseur of the female form. Chanya was still a very attractive woman (another hurdle to overcome in her quest for respect: I don’t want to be cute anymore, she would complain while applying moisturizers and embarking on radical diets), and Krom seemed to be concentrating on just how carefully, slowly, and adoringly she would like to undress her. Now I understood the way she was all dressed up and drowned in cologne: did she expect Chanya to fall for her on the spot?
Chanya saw what I had seen and moved a few inches nearer to me. This didn’t faze Krom at all. Like a male of the most politically incorrect kind, she appeared confident that she could take what she wanted when she wanted it. Her eyes shone when she looked at me, as if her victory and my defeat were certain. As if she belonged to a superior race. This enraged me, but Chanya’s reaction was more complex. Like me she was affronted by Krom’s arrogance; on the other hand, in her event-starved life perhaps a little adventure with a crazy tom would help pass the time?
I coughed. The moment passed. Krom tore her eyes away from my wife to look at me. “Here’s the kicker. After the big Frank Olson scandal, when MKUltra had to go underground, Goldman recruited a young British psychiatrist who had researched psychedelic drugs at Cambridge. How or why he was in Southeast Asia at that time is not known. Some say he was Goldman’s original mentor, the brains that made it all happen. For sure, the experiment wasn’t going anywhere until this shrink showed up.”
“This British shrink made the Asset happen?”
“That’s the implication. But the psychiatrist is extremely reclusive. This is all we have, an alleged photograph about fifty years old, and a name you can’t forget.” She dipped into her briefcase and brought out a sheet with a photograph printed on it.
The photograph seemed to have been taken in a Southeast Asian city, probably Saigon, for there were rickshaws and women in cone-shaped straw hats in the background. It was also long ago; the cars were all models from the sixties. The young man in the picture was unusually tall and skinny, and towered over the brown people around him. He was as improbable as a Greek god who arrived by mistake in the twentieth century in the middle of a war. Long blond hair lay over his shoulders and cascaded down the blinding psychedelic silk shirt. His face was both naïve and triumphant, as if he had found the God particle. He had chemically scaled the heights, solved the problem of existence, and now oozed benevolence, enlightenment, and confidence. He certainly didn’t look like an academic, but then those were very different times.
I looked up from the photo. “And his name?”
“Bride,” Krom said. “Dr. Christmas Bride.”
She stood up quite suddenly, picked up her briefcase, and made her way to the door. She waied us, told me not to come out to the street to help her find a taxi, and was gone. Chanya and I stared at each other. I wanted to know what Chanya thought, so I didn’t say anything.
“That is one very disciplined lady,” she said.
“Yes. I think so too. In what way, though?”
“She came to deliver a message. The message was that name: Dr. Christmas Bride. Of course, I don’t know anything about the case. Why is that name so important it’s worth a special private visit like this? Why couldn’t she give it to you over the phone or at work?”
“Because she wants to have you.”
“But how would she know that when she’s never met me before?”
“Think male,” I said. “Among pack animals tumescence is a product of hormones, fantasy, and competition, the lust object itself comes last. Most of the men in the station drool over you, even the ones you’ve never met-a reputation like yours makes for restless dreams.”
–
When I arrived at work, Manny, Vikorn’s secretary, told me that Krom and I had a meeting scheduled with the Old Man later in the day. “It’s important,” she added ominously.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. He received a phone call just now and he turned serious.”
“Where did the call come from?”
“I think Beijing.”
10
Krom and I sat next to each other on the wooden seats Vikorn kept in his office, opposite his desk, while he sat in his padded executive chair. When he took out a Churchillian cigar and lit up, the familiar ritual was accompanied by sidelong glances at Krom, as if he were engaged in an act of defiance. He blew dense gray smoke out of his mouth and waited for it to diffuse throughout his office before he spoke.
“The Americans are in a hurry,” he said. “At least Goldman is. I don’t know why, and nor do the Chinese, who are suspicious. Why the rush for a security system that will take a decade to develop after purchase? Anyway, Goldman has promised some kind of show.”
He stopped and waited for questions. Both he and I were intrigued about how much Krom knew, how networked she was with Beijing. The Chief studied her for a moment, while she obligingly offered him a three-quarter profile without engaging his eyes. She did not respond, and my guess was that she was not aware of what Vikorn was about to tell us.
“As you would expect, there’s plenty of documentation on this Asset thing, but it’s hyper-secret. Goldman claims he used influence and a lot of dough to borrow-his word-a certain proof that his Asset is the real deal.” He drew on the cigar, exhaled, stared at Krom. There was perhaps a note of anger when he asked, “Do you know anything about this?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“But it has to do with the murder in the market, doesn’t it?”
She shrugged.
Now he had my complete attention as he spoke directly to Krom. “The Market Murder has given Goldman one huge credibility problem, but the origin of the problem so far is suspicion and innuendo. The Detective here has almost nothing to go on, no way of proving anything definitive either way. No one has come up with any convincing proof that the Asset did it. On the one hand, the crime is so bizarre it is difficult to think of an alternative suspect. On the other hand, that makes an ideal setting for anyone who wanted to sabotage Goldman’s sale. Therefore, the Market Murder has forced Goldman’s hand. Does he have a game-changing product that will bring more or less total control to those governments who can afford it? Or has he spent over fifty years producing some kind of out-of-control freak who can perform a few circus acts but could never be a team player in a disciplined security service? That’s probably the issue. But why the rush? Isn’t haste suspicious in itself? What’s he afraid of?”